Lily, a friendly stranger, says ďNo one has
ever guessed where Iím fromĒ at this cold
New Yearís Eve bash and I easily grabbed
a hold of Tallahassee and I became correct
and now as we dance to Golden Years, she
looks in my eyes as if they opened inward
to my body remembering itself and this is
when she calls me psychic.
Dear Kate, it doesn't matter that the almost
-a-girlfriend showed. This secret amidst the
other secrets in that room mingled freely in
front of the shrimp crepes and brie, and this
exposure is why some adults are not able to.
Desdemona dear, had your parents not read the story
before they named you? And what do you have that
I do not? Wait! Donít answer that. I know that you
are younger than I am and that Iím also deserving of
Denim holds a hefty girl
who throws-up a mango-
color just after this pink
ADVISOR at the corner
of a 3-story on Prospect.
Kevin McLellan has recent or forthcoming poems in journals including: Arch, Barrow Street , Drunken Boat, Exquisite Corpse, Hunger Mountain, Interim, Southern Humanities Review and many others. His chapbook Round Trip, a collaborative series with numerous poets, is forthcoming from Seven Kitchens (Spring, 2010). Kevin lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.